It had been a far and away number of years since a car backfiring had made him jump but he'd done it none the less, shoulders lifting into the way he ducked his head down and guarded his center with his back curved outward.
"Jesus," Rat was already jogging past him on the way to the chained fence, "I told her to bring it by later. Not at eight in the morning."
"Get that shite in the garage quietly, huh?" Chibs was frowning tightly as he squinted at the low riding boat of a car that was sputtering and heaving street side. "It's dead on its heels, yeah?"
"Yeah." Rat was waving it off as he turned into a full run toward the gate. "I'll get it in, VP."
Chibs shook his head, fingers working into his brow in a sudden swing of unexpected annoyance. There was a headache working up a riot behind his eyes and the all too cheery California morning of sun and double sun was only jacking up his perturbation. He stalled his steps at the tables that were perched near the clubhouse door. Slowly Chibs pried the pack of cigarettes from his pocket, piecing one out before tossing the half crumpled pack onto the table before the other man. Tig unwrapped long fingers from his coffee cup and curled them over the pack but his hand stayed momentarily still.
"Jumpy this morning?" Tig's face seemed overly pale and his eyes were bleary, as though the coffee hadn't effused enough clarity throughout his waking brain fog.
Chibs shrugged into it as he lit the cigarette and sucked down hard, letting the lighter clatter to the table as well. "What's Tiggy doing up with the sunshine?"
"Thought I'd get some hours in." the other man shrugged slowly into the quieted admission. "Think better when I'm working."
The Scot nodded in understanding, smiling into agreement as he straddled the bench of the table, drawing the coffee forward as Tig lit one of the cigarettes and leaned elbows first onto the table. The Vice President took a sniff at the strong brew before taking a hard swallow, ignoring the fact that now the tingling burn of strong coffee tasted a hell of a lot like the soft lips of a suddenly familiar brunette.
"You took off last night." Tig grasped the mug back and curled one long fingered hand around it. "All good?"
"Needed to work off a little energy." Chibs couldn't save himself from smiling into the words. "Let off a little steam."
"Yeah, I bet she's good for that." Tig's glance was lifted toward the sputtering car that was rolling closer to them and missed the winced accusation that unintentionally narrowed into the Scot's eyes. "Exhaust is shot."
"Engine's on its way out too. You go under, I'll go over." Chibs nodded toward the vehicle.
Tig just pressed up from the table with a cocked grin, coffee in hand and cigarette hanging from his lips, "Bet she's good for that too."
"Y'can go fuck yourself, Tiggy."
"I'll schedule it for later."
He was thankful that the other man seemed to want as much quietude as he did and appreciated the comfort of having a silent compatibility. Tig seemed nearly as distracted as he felt and Chibs sighed out his thanks as they started working on opposite ends of the doomed car, digging into something they could just manage with their hands. The problem was that the use of his hands had seemed far more enjoyable hours before and he wasn't too far above letting those memories layer into his thoughts one by one. Sure, it wasn't the only problem he had on his over sized plate, but it seemed to be the one that his brain wanted to juggle around.
Because his brain had stopped-sudden-still about the time she'd kissed him goodbye with both her hands along his cheeks, as though the world was a fair place and they'd be about the dinner table in a few hours, talking about their day. Like normal people.
Normal people didn't crawl between the other side's sheets and lay her back on a moan that he proudly thought coulda possibly woken the neighbors.
And his brain, git that it was, hadn't yet worked past that moment to meet up with the one he was in.
"Fuck." He hissed the word roughly out and shook out his suddenly stinging left hand long after the blood of a scraped knuckle had bubbled up and washed his skin a ruddy red. "Damn it."
"You all right?" Tig's voice seemed less concerned and more a requirement of longtime brotherhood.
"Just outta my head." Chibs explained in a suddenly quieter tone, jerking one of the rags from the tool rack a few steps away, wrapping it around his knuckles as Trager shifted up from the back end of the car, leaning his hip into the dented back side.
"Juice or Jarry?"
It irritated him. Another man's voice curling such heat around her name - or was he imagining a teasing tone?
It irritated him more that he wasn't more concerned with Juice and what was coming than he was with her at the moment – or was he using her as a foil?
Jealousy wasn't his bag. And he wasn't about to start laying into that mess of a bed.
"Pick a fuckin' target." Chibs hissed out, keeping his head down though he met the other man's eyes with uplifted honesty.
Tig just shaded him a smile that said he knew more than he was willing to vocalize and for some reason, that just kicked up the Scot's anger like dust between them.
"What?" Chibs asked with no particular inflection besides his accent.
"Nothin', man." Tig lifted his palms and stepped backwards, aiming back to the opposite end of the car. "I didn't say a word."
It was the knowing look on the other man's face that had him sharply inhaling through his nose and dropping his head back in frustration, eyes screwed shut.
He had to distance her. Distance himself, rather. All while keeping pressed up close to her.
Use a battered hand to rebuild a crooked wall.
Better neighbors and all that.